


Riptide

by arroways



Series: Wheatgrass 'Verse [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Lazy Mornings, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arroways/pseuds/arroways
Summary: Set within the same universe as "Blame it on the Oxytocin," but you don't need to have read that to read this.---"He mumbles something incoherent and looks down at her through heavy-lidded eyes.“Do you always get what you want?” he mutters.She grins up at him. “You always give it to me.”





	Riptide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oscillateswildly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscillateswildly/gifts).



> Thank you [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_mm/pseuds/luna_mm) for the beta!
> 
> I've been taking a hiatus from writing and was feeling pretty down the other day, so I sat down and wanted to write something upbeat, hopeful, and full of love. Here it is.

“Ben.”

Rey whispers this into his temple.

He exhales in response, and turns onto his side, away from her.

“Ben,” she whines again, spooning up behind him and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

He mumbles gibberish.

“Ben,” she licks his bare skin, running her tongue along the ridges of his spine, up to the nape of his neck, where his messy hair tickles her nose and she tastes salt.

He shakes his head.

She harrumphs and flips over onto her back to stare at the ceiling, leaving one hand to trace indiscernible patterns into his shoulder.

“It’s not even that early,” she tells the ceiling fan. She’d like to think the ceiling fan is on her side in this matter. The ceiling fan spins on in a quiet hum of agreement.

“You’re the worst,” she adds, turning her head slightly and telling the back of _his_ head, a messy bunch of dark curls. Ben Solo has an abundance of cowlicks in the morning. She resists the urge to pat them down, she knows the effort would be futile.

She looks down the length of her own body, clad in a pair of practical white undies and a thin white cotton shirt. In the slight morning chill of the room, her nipples have pebbled beneath the fabric. Dusky peaks beneath a soft, well-worn, well-loved shirt. She absentmindedly lifts her free hand (the one not currently tracing the words _just fuck me_ into her fiance’s shoulder) to pinch one of her nipples, running it between her fingers, watching it harden even more so.

She realizes the man beside her has fallen into a deep sleep once again. She knows this because he lets his guard down and is now turning onto his back.

She lifts her fingers from his shoulder and trails that hand down her abdomen, running her fingers along the waistband of her undies. She considers.

She abandons that original idea and pounces.

With all the finesse of a jungle feline, she crawls over Ben Solo’s supine body and begins to press kisses to his naked torso. Her lips linger at the scar that extends down the side of his face.

They’ve been looking for appliances recently, at the likes of the Home Depot. Her fiance is built like one of these many appliances. After all, that’s the power of Ben Solo.

Her mouth just can’t cover as much surface area as she would like it to. She would like to bite at both of his nipples simultaneously. She would like to kiss as much muscle as she can.

He’s beginning to stir again. He’s become fundamentally lazy, recently. Maybe she spoils him.

Maybe she’s about to spoil him a little more.

She pulls the blue jersey sheet covers down and off him before she sits back on her haunches, eyeballing his boxer briefs. She’s slightly offended to not find the front of them tenting the way they sometimes do when he first wakes up.

She shimmies back down, nudging his legs apart and settling between his thighs, pressing her mouth to the fabric covering his groin.

Love is a strange thing. Love is a rollercoaster, love is a boat ride, love is an intergalactic time warp. She’s sure at some point, she would have minded all the things that made him human, back when she maybe didn't love him. But now, she wonders, if there was ever a time where she wouldn’t have minded that slightly musky smell in the morning. If she would have ever minded his morning breath. She doesn’t think that she could have ever minded, she’s not sure if this would have ever deterred her.

She’s not sure if there was ever a time when she would have denied him a kiss because his mouth tasted bitter, or because he was too sweaty, or because he had a pimple somewhere unbecoming. She would have kissed him all the same. So was there ever actually a time she didn’t love him?

It’s those small things. Love, for her, hasn’t been about sword fights or princes or dragons. It’s been about fighting over lease agreements. It’s been about surviving Ikea. It’s been about fucking up new recipes and eating the burnt product all the same. It’s been about the weird little jealousies that have come up here and there. Eyes glancing at a passing butt, a lingering stare at a barista. And the fighting that comes after, the insecurities that crawl out of the woodwork and show their ugly gargoyle heads, until they realize – this isn’t them. And they realize that it’s them, it will always be just them, and all the little fears and all the little things that make us human, it’s all fine.

It’s all fine.

And so Rey slips her fingers into the waistband of Ben Solo’s boxer briefs, and tugs downward, and smiles at his half-hard dick, nestled in a messy patch of dark curls, and before she gets to the good stuff, she presses a few kisses to the inside of his thighs (because she loves it when he does that to _her_ ).

As her lips meet the juncture of his hips, traveling up his to his iliac furrow, which she nips at, he begins to stir.

He mumbles something incoherent and looks down at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Do you always get what you want?” he mutters.

She grins up at him. “You always give it to me.”

He exhales loudly, his nostrils flaring, as she grasps at the base of his dick with her right hand, her left hand traveling down between her own thighs.

He inhales sharply, and she relishes the sensation of hardening flesh, of his blood rushing right where she wants it, before she licks up the side of his erection. She stops at the tip of the glans, laving at the precome there, and pressing a chaste kiss that makes him tremble slightly beneath her.

“I don’t know why we even have an alarm.”

She pauses, lifting her mouth away from his cock. “Alexa, disable all future alarms.”

“All morning alarms deactivated,” is the robotic response.

Ben chuckles. “Alexa, reactivate –”

Rey interrupts his command by taking as much of his dick into her mouth as she can handle.

Alexa isn’t pleased. “I’m sorry, I missed that. Would you please repeat that?” The robotic voice pleads with the couple.

They both ignore her. Ben’s fingers gently make their way into Rey’s bedhead, kneading at her scalp as she takes note of the taste of him, the way he shivers when she runs her tongue there. The way his breath hitches when she sucks here. The way he pulls at her hair when his dick hits the back of her throat and she blinks back the tears at her eyes because, well, she loves it. She’d do anything for him.

It’s tough to say who’s in control here. And if any of that really matters. If any of it matters because they’re clearly both so caught in each other’s riptide.

Rey’s left hand is busy rubbing frantic circles into her clit through the cotton of her underwear. She can feel how painfully damp she is like this, and she whimpers as she chokes down on cock, desperate to get him off like this, but she’s fighting a losing battle as her cunt clenches down on nothing.

Ben is significantly more awake than he was a few minutes ago. Their eyes meet, and they work in tandem. It sometimes takes her breath away, how synchronous they’ve become over the years. How eye contact can confirm or deny everything they need to know at any given moment.

For this particular moment, Ben is able to sit up and arrange the pillows behind him, propping himself up a bit. Rey watches as he does so, resting her head on his thigh and lazily pumping her hand along his cock as her other hand continues to try and take her own edge off.

Her tall fiance, her _built_ fiance, he bends over slightly, hooking his arms under her armpits and pulls her up, dragging up along his body and settling her so that she straddles his hips. He gets rid of her shirt, baring her breasts. Other mornings, other times, he might pay more attention to them.

But this particular morning, he reaches down and pulls the fabric of her underwear to the side, working with her in tandem so she can sink down onto his dick, not slowly, but with a satisfying movement that hits her everywhere she needs. She whimpers, chokes out a little appreciative giggle at the alarming, delicious fullness of it.

“I love you,” she whispers down to him, as he bucks up into her. She runs her fingers down his chest. “I really do love you,” she manages to whisper, even as he steadies a hand on her hip, his other hand a quick study as his fingers rub at her clit the way he knows she likes.

“You do?” he asks as he grins up at the way she throws her head back, the way her back arches a little. He can _feel_ how wet she’s been and is getting, around his dick. She’s tight around him, a vice, and yet so velvety, he wishes he had taken some time down there himself this morning. But they have a lifetime ahead of them for all that.

“You know I do.”

And he’s so overcome, maybe, suddenly, who knows, but he’s just overcome, that sometimes you just have to go back to basics, because he manages to maneuver them into good ole missionary, and he only slips out of her slightly. They smile at that. He cages her in beneath him, he tries to cover her without smothering her, because he doesn’t know how else to tell her everything that’s in his chest right now. It’s always in his chest, and then it spreads out from his chest to his fingers and his toes and he feels it in the tip of his goddamn nose (he can rhyme now, see?), he feels it everywhere.

“I love you too, Rey.” He says this against her lips as he looks into her hazel eyes. He says this as his hands grip at her hips, as her fingers claw at his back. As he nips at her lower lip.

“I’m close,” she tells him, and he knows just what to do because she’s told him so many times before. If he gets her hips up higher, if she hooks her feet at his lower back, if she arches her own back just so –

On the top list of life experiences, Ben Solo enjoys watching and feeling his fiancee come apart in orgasm beneath him. It’s not that he has to pay good money, but like, he would pay good money to watch this woman tremble beneath him as she comes.

He cannot get enough of the way her mouth parts slightly and her breath hitches. Sometimes she’s loud, but he finds he enjoys it, even more, when she _isn’t_ loud. There’s something about the way she squirms beneath him. The way she swallows. Sometimes her eyes go really wide, and he can watch the way her pupils change shape. This time, she comes, and her eyes scrunch up, her mouth falls open a bit. Her feet hook even tighter around his lower back. She shivers beneath him. Her hands shake a bit before they claw at his shoulders. She whispers his name as she relaxes beneath him.

“Come for me, come for me, please, Ben,” she’s whispering now.

And well, like he said, she always gets what she wants.

**Author's Note:**

> I also recently commissioned art from my fic, "Blame it on the Oxytocin." [You should go check it out here!](https://arroways.tumblr.com/post/173595688043/pandacapuccino-arroways-bring-on-the-wonder)
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr: [arroways](https://arroways.tumblr.com/)  
> or Twitter: [@arr0ways](https://twitter.com/arr0ways)
> 
> (I was previously demimondes/demimondaine)


End file.
